The Reports of My Death
by nottonyharrison
Summary: He's not dead. Obviously, or he wouldn't be getting three rows in and losing track at thirty-six. The nurse told him he'd had a seizure while Sacks was visiting and had lost his pulse for a few minutes. He'd heard Sacks had sat paralyzed after the bullet had hit. Just another AU where Lamb isn't dead, Veronica is conflicted, and Wallace is so, so bewildered with what the heck is go


There aren't any cracks on the ceiling to count, only small holes in the acoustic tile that are almost impossible to keep track of even without a brain injury.

He's not dead. Obviously, or he wouldn't be getting three rows in and losing track at thirty-six. The nurse told him he'd had a seizure while Sacks was visiting and had lost his pulse for a few minutes. He'd heard Sacks had sat paralyzed after the bullet had hit Botando, his reaction had been quicker as soon as the doctor had started compressions.

He doesn't really remember much. Flashes of the past year, he knows his name and that he's the Sheriff. He knows Sacks is a timid sack of shit, and the only person he could really call a friend. He remembers a hooker he fucked in Mexico after someone had slipped through his fingers, although who or what the circumstances were he has no idea.

He remembers eating a cheeseburger before he had gone to the house. He'd asked for it without pickles but they'd put them in there anyway and he'd had to fish them out with his fingers. He remembers gagging at the green floppy slice as he threw it down on the burger wrapper.

He remembers being irritated by someone right before he'd left for the station. He isn't sure who but he's fairly certain it was a Mars.

He remembers moving – standing, walking, shooting, swimming, working out, making out… the only moving he does now is when a nurse comes in to roll him over and give him a sponge bath that he can't even enjoy.

The physical therapist say's it's a form of apraxia that's mostly affecting his limbs, that with time it might get better, or it might not. _This type of disorder has a habit of resolving spontaneously, so we'll just have to wait and see_ were the exact words.

He wants to kill himself but he doesn't have the physical capacity to do it.

…

His mom comes and visits him every Saturday. She complains a lot. Mostly about the County Commissioner calling her three times the Sunday after the incident and not leaving a voicemail, but also about his lack of visitors, about Keith taking over his job in the interim, and the price of bananas at Whole Foods compared to Safeway.

He has no choice but to lay there and listen. Mercifully her visits usually only last an hour or so and then he drifts back into his own thoughts. The TV in his room is usually tuned to a channel that plays nineties sitcom reruns. He's fairly certain he's suffered through the episode of Home Improvement with the reciprocating saw about fourteen times at this point.

...

They finally let him go home after three months. He can walk again (with the aid of a cane), and hold cutlery (one of those special spoons that lets you make the odd sudden movement without spilling your lucky charms on your shirt), but his insurance has run out and he can't afford to stay.

That's how he finds out he's been fired. He hasn't been visited by anyone from the county since Sacks fled the room all those months ago. Even Keith hasn't come by to gloat, which Lamb finds both a relief and deeply irritating.

He doesn't look for a job, he has enough savings from kickbacks and political donations to cover his rent for a couple of years, and he makes a bit of money playing poker on the internet to keep the lights on and beer in the fridge.

He doesn't see Veronica until he's at the Sac'n'Pac buying a six pack. She's in the personal hygeine aisle and he ducks behind the pile of toilet paper to avoid being seen. He's not sure why he does it, but he stays there until she leaves with her box of tampons and can of Red Bull.

The cashier is new, a tall gangly kid with a terrible goatee and green tips on his greasy hair. He offers him a scratch card for a dollar and Lamb takes it with a muttered _whatever_.

He goes home drinks all the beers over the course of a couple of hours, and while he's trying to go to sleep head a bit spinny and thoughts struggling to cling to one subject, he wonders why he didn't say hi. He blames it on his impaired brain function and subsequent inability to come up with an opening insult.

He knows he's afraid of how someone from Before will react.


End file.
